


Sweet Relief

by purplegertie



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Belly Kink, Button Popping, Candy, Episode: s04e07 It's the Great Pumpkin Sam Winchester, Gen, Stomach Ache, Stuffing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-16
Updated: 2014-10-16
Packaged: 2018-02-21 08:36:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 742
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2461817
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/purplegertie/pseuds/purplegertie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean doesn't just stop at one bag of candy while he's on stakeout; he eats and eats until his button pops off.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sweet Relief

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by that very inspirational scene in 4.07.

Halloween candy is the _best_. The many wrappers strewn across the bench seat are evidence. That’s a bag full, right there. Fortunately, there are three bags more in the back. Dean reaches over to get one and winces as the waistband of his jeans digs into his belly. Once he’s got the new bag of candy in his lap, he shoves his fingers under his waistband and rubs, but it’s still tight. 

Dean shrugs and rips open the next bag of candy. This is one of those mixed assortments, Laughy Taffy and SweetTarts and little boxes of Dots, and it takes almost as much time getting the packaging off as it does to eat them. Forty-five minutes later, the bag is empty, and he’s feeling kind of... full. Maybe a little sick, even, because probably an even intake of chocolate to chewy things is not what they mean by a balanced diet. But that bag behind his seat, the one with all the mini Snickers, is calling to him.

It’s a little harder this time to reach over into the back and pull the rest of the bags to the front – might as well be efficient about this – and he has to pause afterwards and rub his stomach. Probably he should stop. He should definitely stop.

With that in mind, somehow his first bite of his first Snickers bar tastes just that little with sweeter. He’d forgotten how great they are; specifically, they are _awesome_. The peanuts for crunch – and protein, take that, Sam – and the caramel for sweet, and obviously the chocolate for chocolate. 

He’s down half a bag before he really notices, and by then, yeah, he’s definitely full. And his jeans are definitely tight. He shifts his weight a little, trying to get the pressure to ease up a little, but no dice. 

He eyes the opened bag and the two more, unopened, beyond it, and he says, “Fuck it.”

By the end of the Snickers bag, there’s a pressure building in his stomach that’s shading into pain. He knuckles at his gut a few times for form’s sake, which does nothing except confirm just much sugar he’s crammed in there in the past, what, two hours? He presses, and he can feel the edges of the lump that is three bags full of candy. Fuck, that sounds pretty bad, put like that, and probably it should feel pretty bad, but now all he wants is to put more in there.

He’s huffing a little by the middle of the next bag. He’s starting to feel like he’s physically forcing each bite down his throat. His stomach aches with a deep, dull ache centered just below his ribs and another fiery stripe of pain right across his waist. 

The idea surfaces that maybe, maybe he’s had enough, but screw that. He’s committed now.

Finally he breaks into the last bag, but then he doesn’t pick out a piece of candy, just sits and kneads his stomach, which feels hot and tight and bigger than it should. He doesn’t pull up his shirt to look, but four bags of candy have got to be visible on a guy.

Somehow that’s the thought that gets him going. He tears open the wrapping off and jams the whole piece in his mouth, and with a kind of breathless effort he swallows and leans back against the seat, still huffing, his whole stomach radiating pain.

Suddenly there’s a sharp _ping_ and something hits him in the cheek, sharp as kicked-up gravel. “What the—”

And then he realizes that he feels a little better. He looks down and sees the waistband of his jeans hanging open. Bewildered, he pokes at the fabric tabs of it and realizes the button is gone. “Son of a bitch,” he says wonderingly. He rubs at his swollen stomach, free now from the worst of its restraints, and it still hurts, all that candy sitting heavy as a boulder in his stomach, but the way it hurts is _awesome_.

He leans back against the seat and closes his eyes, his candy-bloated belly in his hand. Everything still hurts, but it hurts so good. He keeps on rubbing, not because it eases the pressure at all but because of how huge the swell of his stomach feels against his hand.

And then, after a few moments of such pained bliss, he pulls another candy out of the bag.

THE END


End file.
